not falling down

I bought The Salmon of Doubt as soon as I saw it, in hardback and everything. (”Inhardback?” said my mother, disapproving. If she’d seen what’s happened to my paperback copy of Long Dark Teatime, she’d understand.)

This was, as it turns out, a bad decision. First, and most obviously, I’m going to be writing withDouglas Adams mannerisms for a week now. Second, it’s keeping me from finishing the(mind-bogglingly good but brain-stuffingly thick) copy of The Blind Assassin that I’ve had for two months. Third, it’s becomingincreasingly difficult to choose between fulfilling my responsibilities as a chaperone and reading just a few more pages.

Fourth, it makes me want more Douglas Adams books really bad.

The only book of his I haven’t read, actually, is Last Chance To See, because I’ve been saving it as a special treat, and alsoyou can’t find it anywhere. I think I own at least one copy of every other book he wrote, and (now)a great many of his columns and articles too. I want there to be another Hitchhiker’s book so bad it hurts–Adams himselfadmitted that Mostly Harmless was a terrible ending, and wasn’t meant to be an ending atall. I want another DirkGently book even worse, because I like them even better.

(I’m not just saying that because I think it’s required of hip experienced Douglas Adams fans, thatone prefer the less popular work. For one thing, I don’t think there are any hip Douglas Adamsfans. Paul McCartney doesn’t count.)

The closest thing, I guess, is the last section of Salmon. It’s the assembled fragments ofthe book Adams spent most of the Nineties writing. It’s half Hitchhiker’s and half Gently, and notenough of either. Or so it says in the introduction–I have so far resisted the urge to jump aheadand dig right into it. It can’t possibly live up.

Douglas Adams died a year and a few months ago, pointlessly, shockingly. He jogged regularly. Hewasn’t even fifty. He had a heart attack.

I wish sometimes he’d faked the whole thing, just to get away from the fans who would quoteHitchhiker’s at him all the time.* I know it’s not true. He was toooriginal, too sharp, to try and pull something like that. Elvis did it, after all, and they say youcan only really love Elvis or the Beatles. Douglas Adams really loved the Beatles.

don’t, don’t, don’tlet’s start
why did we ever part
kick-start my rock and rolling heart

* I wish the same thing, more rarely, about Graham Chapman and Holy Grail.

I’m going to be a chaperone at the NJCLconvention most of next week, and I don’t know how often I’ll have web access. I hope to getanother entry up before I go, but that’s there just in case. And!

• When Megatokyo and Sumana both link to the same journal,you know it has to be quality. Read the True PornClerk Stories. I’m betting it’ll be a novel fairly soon, and you’ll be glad you were in on theground floor.

• Incidentally, a Googlewhack (reversedso as not to ruin the fun): “ottaM obiC ,em yrram”
• I bought Cibo Matto’s Stereotype A.
• I love Cibo Matto.
• I bought the Beta Band’s Three EPs.
• I do not love the Beta Band.
• I bought an Xbox.
• So I’m probably going to Hell.

Angie show was great, of course, if sadlya little shorter than the first one.There were actually fewer people there, but because the bar was approximately the size of my closet, it certainly felt a lot morecrowded.

The people from Ohio were there again, in full stalkers-fueled-by-alcohol mode, and once againAngie made jokes about being scared of them that everybody else there knew were serious. Thelocal opening band was a little frightening too, in a “you think you’re getting the crowd excitedbut really we just don’t want you this close to us” way. Ah, Lexington.

Anyway, Angie started off the set with “Wonderland”–said Amanda: “wow, no foreplay!”–and thoughwe didn’t get to hear “Fight For Your Right” or “Gravity,” the version of “Memphis City Rain” was(if possible) better than ever. It just grooooved.

And once again, the magnificent Mandar has pics! Already! I don’t think I’ll ever understand howthese “one-hour photography” places work. There was no cool lighting this time, but we were muchcloser–like arm’s-length closer–and some of them turned out really nice. The crowd includedMonica and her friend Jenny (shown in the sixth pic holding their stolen setlist), plus me, Amanda and Ken–notablebecause the eighth pic below isthe best one ever of Ken. There was another one that was comparable, from an old Short Story concert, but I appear to have lost it; ifsomeone else has a copy, let me know.

There is also one pic in therein which Angie appears to be both asleep and bleeding from the mouth. Don’t blame the photographer!After all, she provided the last pic–in which we prove that even though Jon couldn’t make it tothis show, he was definitely there in spirit (or at least in PSP).

Pics open in a separate window.

GSP is done as of twenty-eight hours ago; thepost-GSP party/nap/wake for the RAs is done as of seven hours ago. It’ll be good to get some sleep,but of course I’m sad. This year I actually had some idea what I was doing, and with a couplenotable exceptions I felt closer to all of my Scholars because of that. I miss them.

There are stories, the ones I couldn’t tell while things were in session because I was on the job.Now they can, in fact, be told, but I don’t currently have the strength for that much typing. I’llget to it soon.

Meanwhile: I get to go see Angie! Again!

Maybe it’s just because I hardly ever watch TV, but man, I don’t… I just don’t know.

Forgot to update the Idiotcam© on Tuesday. Oh well, it’s not a bad one. I’ve probably beenkicked off the HBF portal by nowanyway.

Googling, as is the sudden new fad, “Xorph is” would be neat, except that the only places the word has ever beenused are on this site and some German 3d rendering place. You get results, but they’re almost allthings I’ve written, like “Xorph is a stick figure” or “Xorph is a unique entity.” Blah. Vera’s results are much morefun, and Sumana’s are downright philosophical.